Poetry Blog

Visit the blog for poetry after the style of EA Poe + Charles Bukowski. All original pieces of prose by Robyn Eggs. Experience the imagery for yourself. Hand-bound chapbooks coming soon!

Sex, Love, and Chocolate

The ULTIMATE romance poetry compilation

I.
Romance
A thing or two
Learn me,
I beg of you
La, la, la
Music to hear
I listen
When you are near…
Can we have
Just one more beer?

II.
Whence I went
Wandering
Looking for you
And then
Shoes
Came walking
Towards me…
It was you
It was then
I knew
That everything
I thought
Could be true


III.
I wanted to tell you
You’re wonderful
I wanted to tell you
I need you
I needed to tell you
I hunger for you
I’d be a millionaire
If I could sell you
But instead I’d pay millions
Just to smell you…

IV.
If this were hell
I’d tell you
I’d led you
While under a spell…
…Useless stories
To foretell

V.
Chocolate
The dark stuff
Not too sweet
The right stuff
Is a treat
Chocolate…
How neat


VI.
Started out so lucky
One word and then two
You tried me on
Like an old pair of shoes
We put words on each other
Me and you
Until we exhausted conversation
And it became just us two…

VII.
We spent the night
In retrofit
Me and you
In a building kit
Taking just one more
Hit after hit
Smoking up that bathroom
Like we didn’t give a shit

VIII.
I describe you
How I dine with you
How I lie with you
How I need you…


IX.
A finite number
Of seeds
To sow the world
A few
Amount of words
To slip
Upon ears
The very next time
I see you
It will have been years
Since I’ve been craving
Your touch
Years
Since I’ve been craving
Your crush
Just to see you
Glowing
Is enough
To start tears
A limited number
Of words
Chosen, just for you
With this alcohol,
I will write them true…

I will write them
With purpose,
Slow, into infinity,
Though limited,
They will liquidate…
As they hit your ears


X.
I crave your ears,
Your gentle touch
I crave the years
I could lust
After you
I’m so
Overdue
That the years
Hold to the pages
Strange,
Engaged, and yet dearly
Held out for you
If only you’d hold them
Close to your ears
IX.
A finite number
Of seeds
To sow the world
A few
Amount of words
To slip
Upon ears
The very next time
I see you
It will have been years
Since I’ve been craving
Your touch
Years
Since I’ve been craving
Your crush
Just to see you
Glowing
Is enough
To start tears
A limited number
Of words
Chosen, just for you
With this alcohol,
I will write them true…

I will write them
With purpose,
Slow, into infinity,
Though limited,
They will liquidate…
As they hit your ears


XI.
What we listen to…
What we fear…
A great hunger
And rest period is near

I will need to indulge
To feel you near
To feast with you
And to drink beer…

So let’s dine together
And listen to the sound
Of nature calling…
Calling us to the ground

“Spring is coming,”
You say aloud


XII.
Birds on a treetop
Low hanging
Its love’s songs
That they’re singing
True, old fashioned
Love
In a parking lot
Just two turtledoves

XIII.
If love were to write
Something serious
In the clouds above
Would it be curious?

XIV.
Love poems to write…
They write themselves
For love ignites
The pen itself

XV.
Spectacles to see inside
The insight brings
Imagination to light…
I write what sings

XVI.
Keys to my heart, turn
As you unlock my sight
I gaze upon you burning
With ideas and delight


XVII.
My lover
My wonder
My lust
What I feel
Is left to trust
I find it in you
Like a million bucks
I find relief
In your nuts
And in a bowl
I’m about to buckle
Like a towel
Under the crack
You rescue me
From me
And my ending quest
To be
In your love…


XVIII
Love is a light
Is a life
Twice I’ve loved
And made a wife
But love is a light
I still yearn
To be loved
A love to return
For love is a light
I’ve found in you
I want you thrice
Just give me a clue
Love is a light
I give mine tonight
I seek your taste
I need your might
To do what’s right…
All night long…


XIX.
6 little rabbits
Put them all in the shed
Any bad habits
Won’t last, after head
Shed your worries
And your bed
And come for me
Like a dagger, I’m bled


XX.
I crave your dagger
Deep inside my scabbard
Please, no more blabber
I need you, faster
Last for me, harder
Until the sun grows larger
And don’t forget me in the ‘morrow
Or I will become sadder
Like a fireplace full of fodder
Dig deeper for the ladder
And climb me ’til I’m gladder
So we can both win this wager
Over who’s the badder badger
While I ride your dagger
Until I sag a little
And you exhale louder
And we collapse together
Empowered


Robyn Eggs

*All poems and photographs are my original work. Original Copyright March 30th, 2018. Steemit.com. Republished by Robyn Eggs, Robyn Eggs Art, November 30th, 2019.

Vampire (poetry) I

Clouds are drifting overhead
But I can’t behold the beauty
Because I am dead
Oh! The one who cast me down
Dark, draped, dead too, was he
With many dripping thoughts
And when I was caught I did plea
Please! For my life to be spared of him
Running through the deserted streets
Praying for the righteous dawn
But strangled and raped-my body he beats
Out! Lost is my spirit before the end…
I lay in pain on rusty nails
And dream of my lover’s safe arms
As into my skull, a cross he nails
No! And I can’t hear my screams
But I feel the soil thrown
Light fades though my eyes are open
Together my lips are sewn
So I cannot scream when I wake…

For more read: Vampire II & III

All Original Poetry
Robyn Eggs
Copyright 10.13.2019

“If I could tell you the story, I would. But it hasn’t been shaped yet. The shaping of it. Has yet to pour from the lips of you. For, from what I can tell of you. You mean to slice it up into mashings and thrashings of the irrelevant. Not much more for there to be said, but should…”

1000 Words for 10,000 Ears

These troubled times are soon to end…as we will see the end, this time.

Please see (below) the 1000-word “Ode to Humans” concerning one possible end of humanity. All original, stirring, and borderline activist poetry by Robyn Eggs. EA Poe, October tribute. (Written with feeling for the human condition.)

“1000 Words for 10,000 Ears”

BALLAD / POEM / ODE TO HUMANS

(Stanza 1)
As humans, we struggle
We miss the match
At last we huddle
Against the roads that crash
Against one another
We stay true
What was it like,
We wonder, to see the sky blue?
Was it all puffy clouds?
Or was nothing ever new?

Were there sounds?
Were they like something we never knew?
And so we try to replicate them
As we tap our shoes,
Us humans do…


(Stanza 2)
The tapping of the shoes
Rings true through the halls
Of the cave-like fortress
Where we hide in duress, against walls
Now moaning ensues
Like the sounds of the wind
Straight from the gut
We humans sing about terror and sin
As we’re stuffed in a barrel
Like sardines in a tin

Were there sounds?
Were they like something we never knew?
And so we try to replicate them
As we tap our shoes,
Us humans do…


Sepia reeds…also published on Pintrest

(Stanza 3)
Let us pray the storm will pass
Let us pray that the apocalypse
Won’t last past another generation
We need to escape this barrel, this ellipse
Another generation won’t stand for it
We’ll have to peek our heads outside
But the last person to give it the slip
Never came back to give us a ride
And so I know that I am not the only one
Who thinks of how to escape, here inside

Was there light?
Was there something new to see?
And so we try to imagine them
As we close our eyes to see
What kind of humans we could be…


(Stanza 4)
The human struggle is all
But might and worth
Those two things
We can toss aside, in this sea of mirth
Each is watching the other
And for this we cannot blame
The deeds of one another
Inside this cave – they bear no shame
If only I could cum again
But without shame, there is no flame

Was there light?
Was there something new to see?
And so we try to imagine them
As we close our eyes to see
What kind of humans we could be…


(Stanza 5)
The only light came from the fire
Yet, there was no need to be near
We found that it could be imitated
By phosphorous, it was clear
The fortress was lined with it
From a time long ago
And we humans lie affected by it
On the floors of the bordello
Like so many sheep in a pen
We lie about everywhere, like jello

Was there a smell of outside?
Could we try to find it that way?
Always searching for a breath of freshness,
As we wend along the way –
All we know is the smell of decay…


Forest Path, Cape Perpetua, OR, USA

(Stanza 6)
The tapping shoes mingle here and there
With the moans, the coos,
And the dirty underwear
Years and years of rags were used
Made into tents and stuff,
Burned up or covered in blood
Some of the rags made it into the walls
To stuff the holes that came from mud
But everywhere teemed humans
Like the crust of the Earth, covered in crud

Was there a smell of outside?
Could we try to find it that way?
Always searching for a breath of freshness,
As we wend along the way –
All we know is the smell of decay…


(Stanza 7)
Yet, still you will find
An occasional human
In need of a hug
Like so many ruins
Time will never let us up
Will we always be in need of touch?
Will we always be human?
So soft, yet so tough
Will we find an opening?
And escape this den of lust?

Perhaps we will find again
The humans that left
Perhaps we will know the touch
Of something bereft
Of decay, of cleft…


(Stanza 8)
Searching, searching
One over the other
We trample each other blandly
In the dark sea of cover
In this cave, so lacking in wonder
Petroglyphs high above, on jutting rocks
Reveal how far down we have come
Now that the water has been all but draught
We are searching for a part of ourselves
That has been eroded over time and lost

Perhaps we will find again
The humans that left
Perhaps we will know the touch
Of something bereft
Of decay, of cleft…


Winter Flowers…also published on Pintrest

(Stanza 9)
And words mingle,
In the breath of passers by
Someone is standing next to me,
I did not notice until they said Hi
Hi, have you seen a way out yet?
They mutter to me lightly as if there was one
As if we hadn’t given up after the fall
Such a great shaking and the entrance was undone
Generations ago
Yet we forget like there never was one

Were there beasts to taste?
Like the ones painted on the ceiling?
I give myself up to the imagining,
My tongue is flooding with feeling,
About how, if so, what a rock I’d be wielding…


(Stanza 10)
As humans, we hunger
In a collective
We share what we find,
Which is subjective
Some days, fat little rodents
Will lose their ways in the dark
Only to be eaten,
Roasted over fire and spark
Sometimes an insect
Or worse, can be found in the dark

Were there beasts to taste?
Like the ones painted on the ceiling?
I give myself up to the imagining,
My tongue is flooding with feeling,
About how, if so, what a rock I’d be wielding…


(Stanza 11)
Someone’s done it
They’ve found us, no way!
Calls in the deep, give away what’s happening
I hear their words ricochet
We’ve found you they call
I hear the others start to awaken
Sounds like they are amassing,
Standing up, suddenly shaken
They die down, getting distant,
From a dream, I waken

Will we wish for escape?
Even generations from now?
Will the feeling ever fade?
That we were once outside, and how –
How we got in here; how we became a crowd?


(Stanza 12)
Humanity is slipping
But ever seems to hold its grasp
Over me and the children
Trapped inside this mountain gap
Together the nonsensity
Has lasted
Eternally
Crass, and will remain burning,
Forever, infernally…


NebCat Photography co. 2019

Straight from an 80s womb, Robyn Eggs breaks the mold with her abstraction and appreciation for even the littlest of things. Her unique eye captures a different point of view. Vision requires first to see, for, the point of conception is the apex of creation. Take a trip into another dimension, or just peer through the portals, as Robyn Eggs provides a treat for the Third Eye.

**Originally written September 11, 2017. Previously published on Steemit.com: [https://steemit.com/writing/@robyneggs/1000-followers-epic-tribute-ballad-ode-to-humans] All original photography, graphics and poetry by Robyn Eggs.

If Activism meant Caring too much…

Special Thanks to the Cult

Seasons change
And seasons grow
Life settles
In the hear and know
I fear a show..
.

Plants take off
And plants uproot
And animals eat
The troubled shoots
Tread under careful boots

Succulents fill with
Water soaking up
Nighttime comes
To fill the cup
For the bats will sup…

But barracudas
Aren’t enough
To shoot down the
Impoverished and tough
So, what’s up?

Seasons change
Politically
And spirals begin
Polyamourously,
Figuratively…

If guns were animals
They’d eat a lot
They’d stop and stare
Maybe sleep on a cot
Probably take their own shots

For, what do we know
Of the pinnacle cost?
What do plants know
Of having a boss?
Can plants cut loss…?

One day, we’ll make
The seasons change
One day is all it will
Take to spare the change
Will it leave outrage?

Will we look back
With regret
On our human choices?
Will we stay on set,
Even with the neglect –
And shudder with our voices..?

Straight from an 80s womb, Robyn Eggs breaks the mold with her abstraction and appreciation for even the littlest of things. Her unique eye captures a different point of view. Take a trip into another dimension, or just peer through the portals, as Robyn Eggs provides a treat for the Third Eye.

Vampire (poetry) II 2019

Original art and photography by Robyn Eggs

Slipping solitude in a basket
Wove veins around my alone
I’m lying dead in my casket
Through which light once shone

The sun sets behind the grave
Blood stirs as my heart is excited
The twisting night I must brave
So my sense of perception is heightened

Wandering through the rippled scents
Within the cold, dark air
My existence represents
A harbored evil’s lair

Retaining my lucid skin
For all of time
My sickly body thin
I am a mute, a mime

I feed like the vulture
On only the dead
Their flesh a sculpture
Where I dig my head

Stumbling on through the night
I sense the dawn rising
I give myself to the light
And turn to dust realizing


Poetry Art Collage Cover

Straight from an 80s womb, Robyn Eggs breaks the mold with her abstraction and appreciation for even the littlest of things. Her unique eye captures a different point of view. Take a trip into another dimension, or just peer through the portals, as Robyn Eggs provides a treat for the Third Eye.
*Previously published on Steemit.com
**Original photography and graphics by Robyn Eggs Photography

Poetry for Autumn

The chill is in the air. That cool breeze that signals the trees to turn color. Please enjoy this hand-selected batch of poems for the change in season. OX Bye bye birthday month. Hello back to skool…

“Leaf Collecting”

Leaf collecting
Chocolate raspberry
Sipping
Dreaming of taking a trip
With angels, sinking
The aftertaste
You’re right, you said
It’s quite ripe for the drinking
So, on the phone,
We are speaking
Speaking of leaving
Speaking of drinking
And losing the battle
Of staying behind lines
Of other people’s thinking
We were dreaming
Of summer
Collecting
Leaves

– Robyn Eggs

“A Bag in a Box”

A bag in a box
A box in a bag
I want to create you
In soft, little sags…

Tips of the pen
So supple and sweet
Nothing so dead
As what’s risen, cheap
Plastic parts, amiss
I steep myself in leeks
And onions to make
Me weep, and I sigh
At the thought of you
And I lie to the masses
Just to save you
But you got high
And played me,
Just a bag in a box…


“DOWN sets the Moon”

Down sets the moon
But it will rise again
Down sets the moon
But the pies will be wed
To the lips of my mouth
It’s this that was said:
“A pool of glass, fall into
the shards and be bled.”
Now, no more to say…
But, “I am dead.”

Stanza 2

Pour me out…pour me
Out of the moon –
Ladle me out
With a spoon…
(Drink me in, I croon)

Wandering wayfare
Boons
Tickets to see the
Loons
Have left in ruin
Shoes
News
Has reached ears
Lewd
Ringing out true
Brewed
Screaming names
Screwed
I found
You


*Originally published on Steemit.com

Business owner, Mother and veteran, Robyn Eggs wears several hats. Artist and poet, she divines her inspiration from the Goddess. Her world is a series of events pouring out from the hands of fate.  All artists are welcome to apply for featured slots on this website. Just email: robyneggsandtoast@gmail.com

Vampire (Poetry) 2019 III

Sparkly sunset
Even vampires can sparkle in the sunset…

Vampire III

Stanza 1

Once I was breathing
The dawn caressing my face
Once I was bleeding
But then it was all erased
Now I am sinking
Through eternal space
My face never blinking
My face permanently erased
Am I doomed? Maybe not
Maybe I’ve been gifted –
For many men have sought
To be from mortality lifted
Yet banished to night
Forced to prey
My instincts I fight
But all I can do is pray
Yet banished to night
I creep away
My feet take flight
Here comes the rising day
What’s left of my mind?!
These alien instincts
They drive me blind
They drive me to the brinks
Of this terrible bind

Stanza 2

What defines a soul
But its individual thoughts
What keeps a human whole
But that its mind doesn’t rot
So what am I now
Why can I no longer accentuate
What I’m feeling and how
My being a mere conglomerate
A bundle of bodily commands
Feed, prey, and run away…

Stanza 3

So I look down at my hands
Can I feel guilt today?
How can I define this state?
Only define what it is not
Without time I have no fate
Without hell there is no hot
Every day it becomes harder
Harder to wonder about life
About becoming a martyr
And experiencing human strife

Stanza 4

Once I was breathing
I can remember seeing
But dreams and memories
Are harder to retain
As is my body to stain
Now every dawn
Drives me away
I’m like a pawn
To the light of day
And all I can do is pray…


Robyn Eggs

Look for Vampire II, coming next… Only 89 days ’til Halloween…are you ready? Check out the new itch art.

*This poem is Copyright Robyn Eggs 2019. All original poetry is credit solely to me. Do not reproduce.

Depression Throwback – Millennials are living in the 1980s, at Grandma’s House.

Buy this collage lampshade – click here.

#depression_throwback.

Millennials are living in the 1980s, at Grandma’s House. If they are smart…

As millennials

We have apps that save us money.
We have apps that bring in trickles of side-money.
Coupon apps. Youtube. Snapchat.
Lyft / Uber.
We recycle.
And we upcycle.
We invent.
And we reinvent.

We create.
And we make content.
We upload. And we download.
We digest information like it’s potato chips.
And we SAVE it all.
Somewhere, at least.
Like on Pintrest or Facebook.
All without killing paper. Or walking to the library.

And we shop around for the best deal.
Student discounts. Virtual sales. Or
Cool thrift shops.
One store for this and one store for that.
If we’re smart, we wait FOREVER for that prized
FASHION ITEM to go on sale. #gryffindor_for_life
We will take home scraps from Mom
Or unbury scraps at Goodwill.

We will join Facebook groups for garage sales.
We will subscribe to newsletters for deals.
We will hunt and peck around corners
For free boxes. And ask for leftover newspapers in the
Coffee shops. (For ransom note poetry.)
Seriously, that ONE fashion item can make a whole wardrobe.
And the shoes. And the purses.
All for pennies on the dollar. Made in China.

Made in the cheapest place possible.
Shipped by the cheapest means possible.
<insert child labor guilt>
But, if we are smart, we are buying our grains in bulk.
And eating less meat. Eating out. Or
Eating for cheap. Cheapest.
Taco Bell. McDonald’s. Golden arches.
Golden recession. Another depression...

And this is why millennials are living in their 1980s Grandma’s House.
This is why we are living like it is the Great Depression.
Because we can. Because we should.
Because it is smart.


Robyn Eggs

Thrifter and gifter, I loved my 1980s Grandma’s House. I will never forget the olive greens and burnt oranges; the large wooden spoons and moulded glassware. I will never forget the wallpaper, drapes, nor the linens made into children’s frocks. Literally sacs for frocks. And rags for rugs. “Have you seen my jumper, Mama?”

ODE TO BROKEN LAWNCHAIR

Written for the Ode Contest on Steemit.com

Robyn Eggs Photography

oh lawn chair

broken and amiss

won’t you covet me like I covet you

and tell me of your miss?


it was like chalk in the dark

a white against the night

a slippery gooey substance

not to be missed on sight


this image i imagine her in

your miss oh broken lawn chair knight

if only we could discover we were kin

and live on forever as a kite in the wind


a family house 

so unique

a proud house

mystique


a questioning house 

of drunken debauchery

a luring, lucid, sudden reason

to rid the world of a sizeable treason


wont you tell me of her, finally

for i am questioning if she’s even a she…

wait a second,

how do lawnchairs breed???

Straight from an 80s womb, Robyn Eggs breaks the mold with her abstraction and appreciation for the littlest of things. Her unique eye captures a different point of view. Artist and poet, she divines her inspiration from the Goddess. Nature is her church.unique eye captures a different point of view. Artist and poet – inspired by the Goddess.

“April poems bring May slogans”

April Collection

Abstractions undermine the wicked as a story is laid forth from magical stylus. Enjoy the infamous Robyn Eggs poetry with a splash of lime. She tell tales from all sides and yet none. None is the number of the day, and the letter is written. This poetry compilation will stir your soul and leave you wondering at your own philosophies. Psychology takes a dip into a bag of chips and can’t stop, for the tasting of it is so sublime. Appreciation required. Rewards are in the finale, a tale told with style can only end with one person left changed – the reader’s own.

I.

If I could tell you the story, I would

But it hasn’t been shaped yet

The shaping of it

Has yet to pour from the lips of you

For, from what I can tell of you

You mean to slice it up

into mashings and thrashings of the irrelevant

Not much more for there to said, but should

Except sauntering, wandering lids

Upon jars, in bars, where they are hid

Like stashes of plants, growing in sieves

The soil keeps the holes from falling through the wind

II.

The wind did call

And shot the ball with it

And it poured over Manhattan like a fog, it did

And so, the story began to unfold with your words,

Turning like they did

That sieve shot up from the ground, it did

Under massive pressure from below, the sieve

Blew all the soil up, tall

It rose from the landing, and called

Out to the lids, “help me,” it said

The plant held face

While all in a turmoil

The plant had nothing to waste

To fall from its shelf, misplaced, misguided

And far from wasteful, it had nothing to taste

III.

It was your lips, pouring out the words

That tumbled from the gist

Of the things, gone asunder and missed

That tipped off the shelf that it should tumble and wish

To no longer be a shelf that wished

To be closer to the ground, the wood

It was made of the finest wood from high cliffs

It was made of the dirt, the ocean, and rifts

It was made in time, to the singing of fish

It was designed, in kind, by a man who wished

And it was from that man who had lips

That words tumbled and spilled in the dish

The words tumbled, alright

Right into this story while taking flight

The tales weaved said shelves could fly at night

IV.

And fly they did, like whirly-wind tails

Wagging through the air on ribbon and sables

The plant flew from its soil like cascading veils

And the wind blew and blew it

Like water falling over the gables

Like water, falling over Frank Lloyd Wright

When he envisioned he’d be close to it

His idea took flight

And imagination and desires

Took it from dark, to light

A house was born, in the middle of the night

And nothing could go wrong

Once the plans took flight

And everything was still, in his mind

Like a happy, balanced, and well-armed kite

Robyn Eggs Photography

V.

It was the spotter who did it

Let it fall from the sky

This story, like a fable

Leaves everything to disguise

I am counting on the ties

That bind us to the telling

Like I am trying to tell you

While you listen to the spelling

It’s all in the limericks

Bound to each other, like lines

The limericks will tell you no lies

The lesson is learned, under architect’s skies


Straight from an 80s womb, Robyn Eggs breaks the mold with her abstraction and appreciation for the littlest of things. Her unique eye captures a different point of view. Artist and poet, she divines her inspiration from the Goddess. Nature is her church.